Of All the Gin Joints
by Micayasha
Summary: Years after the war, Fujin tries to convince Seifer to come back home. :post.game:


"SEIFER."

It's been a long time since anyone's called him that. Here he goes by James White - an ordinary name for a once extraordinary knight. A lot of people know the name Seifer Almasy, though they don't know the face - he'd be asking for trouble if he went by his real name.

He knows that voice. It sounds shell-shocked - or, rather, slightly alarmed, which, considering its usual monotone, means he isn't the only one who wasn't expecting this meeting. He doesn't look up yet - he's afraid of what he'll find.

She just waits, though. He hears the scrape of a stool being pulled out and she sits down, and still he stares resolutely down at the glass he'd been drying.

"Fuu," he says finally, mortified to hear his voice crack.

There's a pause, and then she mutters, "JERK."

"Huh?" The insult catches him off guard so that reflexively he tears his eyes from the glass to fix them on her face, irritated and mildly surprised. "_Who's_ a jerk?" he demanded resentfully in a tone of voice that said he understood very well.

She hasn't changed much - her hair is shorter, cut short, spiky. The look suits her, accentuating her high cheekbones and angular face. Her eye meets his steadily, and even though he's mostly gotten used to their startling crimson hue, there's still something odd about such a colour in a person's eyes. "RAN. ABANDONED."

"I didn't abandon you." Seifer breaks eye contact because she can always see right through him when she looks into his eyes. "People accepted you, more or less - once the fuss had died down. You and Rai seemed pretty happy where you were."

"_YOU_ WERE THERE," Fujin snapped, and gave a sigh filled with the frustration that came from speaking to someone with an incredibly thick skull. The words were sharper and jerkier than her usual speech.

There's a long, heavy silence, filled with _I'm sorry_ and _come back_ and _I miss you_ - and then Fuu says abruptly, "BEER."

Seifer blinks, his brow creasing in confusion, but he puts a beer down in front of her, the glass clattering loudly in the silence of a bar on a Sunday afternoon in a sleepy, forgotten town. She stares up at him with a sad, resentful look in her eye, and he meets it, guilty but unrepentant, because he really thinks she'd be better off without the ex-sidekick of the witch who'd started a war.

Someone walks in, right then, and they jump guiltily as though having been caught doing something they shouldn't have, and Seifer goes to serve the man. When he looks back, there's a ring of condensation creasing the wood of the bar, a handful of coins next to it, and Fujin's stool is empty.

But she comes back the next day, and the next, and the next. They don't talk - at times they make eye contact, and at times their hands brush in the passing of money and beer. Seifer wonders, on these occasions, if her skin tingles at the contact, too.

But of course, it's Fujin, and she never lets things like that affect her.

Or so he thought, until one day, two weeks after their first meeting in five years, Fuu grabs his hand as he's taking the money from her, and she yanks him down, tilts her head, and kisses him. Clumsily, hesitantly, and it really lands more on the corner of his mouth than anything. Her lips taste of beer and are slightly chapped, because Fuu is no girly-girl, and doesn't take the time to slick her lips with gloss or balm to soften them. But she is nervous, and trying very hard, and he feels warm all over at the sensation.

She pulls away with a gasp, and the look on her face is furious and humiliated, and she won't meet his eyes - and she flees. It takes him a moment to realize that he never returned her kiss, and he understands how she would interpret that: particularly when her opinion of herself is not very good.

Seifer runs all around town looking for her, but she is gone - the only thing left of her is the ring on the surface of his bar.

One week later, he turns up at Balamb Garden, looking sheepish and hopeful and apologetic all at the same time, and he asks if he is still welcome. And Squall scowls, Zell grumbles, Irvine frowns, Selphie huffs, and Quistis shakes her head - but Fujin smiles wider than he's ever seen her do, and Raijin beams like a kid on Christmas morning.

People still whisper about him, still glare when they pass him in the halls, and he can't count the number of times his room has been trashed or his things stolen - but it doesn't matter anymore, because, pariah or no, Fujin's kissing has improved so much that he can't find it in himself to be unhappy.


End file.
